


Don't Fear The Reaper

by rippedoutgrace



Category: Pushing Daisies, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, M/M, reaper!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedoutgrace/pseuds/rippedoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's quite busy these days reaping souls, but someone is temporarily borrowing them before Dean can get them to their final resting place. He's getting pretty annoyed about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did I say I was done writing Dean/Ned? I'm a terrible liar. I was using this as a writing warmup actually because I've been feeling rusty lately (and I'm sure it shows here) but I liked it well enough so I just decided to share it with you guys. I hope you all enjoy it! I'll update tags and the like as I go. Unbeta'd as usual.
> 
> Title from the Blue Oyster Cult song of the same name.

It goes like this: one minute Dean is gently steering his newest dearly departed soul into the afterlife and the next minute he’s talking to himself and holding nobody’s arm, blinking at nothing.

 

The time before that, it went like this: Dean had spent a long, _long_ time coaxing the teen from his mangled body and it finally felt like success when the kid squared his jaw and nodded. He took Dean’s hand and as they stood over his now empty body, the kid watched dispassionately as the heart monitor _beep-beep_ ed itself into the familiar flat-line. He startled a little when a nurse ran right through him and Dean put on his warmest smile. “Let’s go, man. We don’t need to be here for this.”

 

The kid took a deep breath and said, “Okay, lead the way, dude.”

 

Dean doesn’t think they made it out of the hospital before he lost the guy.

 

It happened once before that, too.  It was a bad scene – carjacking gone wrong and the victim was bleeding out on the asphalt, choking on his last breaths. Dean was sitting next to him, quietly encouraging even as the ambulance lights could just be seen on the horizon. “It’s okay, man. It’s time and you’re ready, I know you are. I know it’s scary, but I’m going to be right there with you. Hey, look at me,” he soothed. “Just let go, I’m right here.”

 

The ambulance was too late and Dean had another soul in his care. Until he lost that one, too.

 

The funny thing is, if he stands there long enough looking around like an idiot, the souls come back to him with no recollection of where they had gone.

 

Dean’s getting a little tired of it actually.

 

So he’s now waiting for this newest soul to reappear, a kindly old grandmother who only asked for a hand up off her deathbed and brushed out her blouse with dignified aplomb. “I was more than ready for you ages ago,” she whispered to Dean with a cheeky wink. He loved her instantly. Which makes him all the more irritated that he lost her in the first place.

 

“Oh, there you are!” she calls out from behind him.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, perplexed, brow wrinkling. “Where did you go?”

 

She looks confused. “I just turned around and you were gone. Then I turned around again and you were there.” She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

 

He hastily pulls his most charming smile and offers her an arm. “You’re right, it’s been a long day for me. I’m usually more professional than that, honest.”

 

“No harm done,” she pats his arm. “Lead on, dear.”

 

It’s not a bad gig, you know. Sure, the constant death thing gets a little old but the boss is okay and he likes hanging out with Tessa whenever they’re both free. Which actually isn’t that often. Believe it or not, people die _every day_. How exhausting.

 

As luck would have it, Tessa is waiting for him outside Death’s mansion and she looks amused. “Okay,” she nods at him as they walk in together. “What’s going on?”

 

Dean slides belly-down onto one of the less musty couches in what he privately calls the reaper lounge, because as far as he knows, no one here outside of Tessa has much of a personality at all and hadn’t thought to name any of the rooms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he groans around a throw pillow.

 

“How are you losing them, Dean?” she asks patiently, with that overly serene, gentle smile of hers she usually reserves for people in danger of imminent death.

 

“Stop that, it’s creeping me out.”

 

Tessa drops the face and kicks off her shoes before plopping down into the armchair closest to the couch so she can poke Dean’s legs with her toes. “Seriously, it shouldn’t take you that long to go from dead body to retrieved soul to no-longer-your-problem soul. Snatch and grab, what’s so hard to understand?”

 

“You’re a callous, hardened woman,” he grins at her from his folded arms where his head is propped. “And I’m not taking _that_ long. An extra minute at most.”

 

“It’s weird, that’s all,” she shrugs. And then digs her bare toes hard into Dean’s thigh.

 

He lazily kicks out at her. “God, I’m beat. Did more people die today than usual?”

 

Tessa doesn’t answer but he can tell she’s tired, too. There was an earthquake in California today and she was busy running back and forth between crushed and hidden bodies, her beautiful, soft words leading them away from the living and into the quiet rest of death.

 

Dean doesn’t quite have her touch yet, but he remembers it well from when she tried to reap him, lying unconscious in a hospital bed after a car accident. Totaled his baby, no less. 

 

He prefers a slightly different approach. Warmth to counter the coldness of death. Bright smiles to ward off the chilling fear that takes over a person on the brink. But he finds talking them literally out of their mortal bodies helps the situation. He doesn’t really even need to change up the script, seeing as he only uses it once per person, but he does like to personalize it just a bit.

 

He’ll be fine, he’s strong. You can let him go now.

 

Don’t worry about them. They’re going to grow up and remember the best times they had with you.

 

I know how tired you are. You put up a good fight, but now you deserve to rest.

 

A week later, Dean is clearing up a triple homicide and he loses all three of them. When they finally reappear, he hustles them away and his smile is maybe a tad more forced than usual.

 

He explodes when he walks through the mansion’s door. “What the _fuck_ is happening out there?” He’s breathing heavily and he knows the look on his face is feral, if the two silent reapers scuttling quickly away from him right now are any indication. 

 

Death strolls in with an unimpressed look and holding a slice of pizza. “What have you been doing with my souls, boy?” He delicately dabs away a spot of grease from his lower lip with an embroidered handkerchief.

 

“Nothing!” Dean hollers. “Nothing,” he grumbles defensively, lowering his voice after Death raises a brow at him.

 

“Perhaps we should assess the situation,” Death tells him. “You know I got this in the oldest pizzeria in Chicago. They really do a delicious pie there,” he continues on conversationally.

 

Dean likes that he doesn’t need to participate further than a grunt of acknowledgement as he all but pushes Death out the door. “Uh-huh, let’s go check it out. Right now.”

 

He patiently puts up with Death extolling the virtues of deep-dish pizza over New York’s pizza (he finds folding the slice to be inelegant and therefore, distasteful. Not that Dean cares) while they walk. Or Dean is walking. Death just strolls everywhere, his cane _tap-tap_ ping against the ground with every step.  

 

They slide unseen through the doors and walls of the morgue that serves the county area where the souls have been disappearing. And then reappearing. Ugh, Dean is sick of this nonsense. He just wants to do his job, damn it. 

 

There are several people in the room with their backs to Dean and Death, hovering over a body covered by a white sheet, and Dean pays them little mind as he moves towards them. Death puts a stilling hand on Dean’s arm. “Wait.”

 

“For what?” Dean groans.

 

Then the tallest of the three carefully slides down the sheet and shakes his wrist to see his watch. And taps the dead corpse on the brow. The woman sits up, no longer dead, but still very much sporting a gaping gunshot wound to the chest.

 

Dean’s jaw drops. Death blinks twice in what Dean knows is as close as he gets to shock. “Well,” he says, and Dean can hear the barely perceptible surprise in his voice. “I must admit, I did not see that coming.”

 

“Hi, I’m Ned,” the man is speaking softly, unaware of his extra-dimensional audience. “And I’d like to ask you about your murder, if you don’t mind.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes assumptions, and you know what they say about assuming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the fact that I cherry-pick the parts of canon I like and ignore the rest.

“Should we be doing something right now?” Dean asks uneasily. Whatever this guy is doing is not natural and Dean’s feeling chilled by the prospect of dark magic and necromancy.

 

He’s also nervous because he remembers pretty vividly Sue Ann LeGrange and her little book of evil, binding a reaper to do her version of justice. As Dean is now a reaper himself, he really, _really_ doesn’t want to become some nut’s own personal weapon.

 

God, this is bad.

 

He misses the entirety of whatever conversation they have with the formerly dead woman, but he definitely notices when the man touches her again and she falls back on the metal table, cold and blue.

 

Death isn’t answering Dean, but rather looking on curiously and brushing stray crumbs from the lapels of his coat. “This has been illuminating,” he murmurs finally. And then disappears, leaving Dean alone and annoyed.

 

“No, it wasn’t,” he grumbles.

 

He feels the pull of a flickering life, like a tugging in his belly, and he sighs. Time to go to work.

 

It’s a good one. The way it should be, Dean thinks. An elderly man, surrounded by his children and grandchildren, smiling and talking until his last breath. When Dean takes his calloused, wrinkled hand and pulls him out of his body, the old man gifts him with a beatific smile. “I’ve been waiting for so long,” he tells Dean. “Finally going to see my wife again.”

 

Dean makes sure to take him all the way to the edge, delivering him personally to heaven’s door with a word of farewell and that he hopes he finds his wife soon. Dean can’t step through, but it’s all right. He wasn’t that impressed with heaven the first few times around. When Death offered him the job, he jumped at the chance to keep working, to do something good and meaningful. He doesn’t need rest. He needs to be useful and reaping souls, even with its unfortunate downsides sometimes, is a good thing for him. Dean likes guiding souls to where they need to go and being the last kindly face they see before being reunited with loved ones or gratefully sinking down into well-earned eternal rest.

 

He likes that Sam is in the latter category. Death reaped his soul personally and gave Dean the chance to say goodbye, which he knows is more than anyone else gets. Sam was tired, worn down, physically and emotionally exhausted. It’s better this way. It’s what they both need.

 

So yeah, some days are better than others and this was a good day.

 

Except for the necromancy thing.

 

Dean keeps going back, walking unseen through the morgue, waiting for the necromancer to come back. He just misses him one time. The guy is folding his impossibly tall self into the passenger seat of a car idling on the curb next to the morgue. Dean rushes to catch up but the car pulls out into traffic and he lets them go, disappointed. He could run after them but the one major complaint he has in this spectral body is that he seriously dislikes when people or things move through him.

 

The first couple of times it was cool, watching a car or a person slide through him, but it got creepy after a while. It’s also a…not so tangible reminder that he’s no longer alive. He could make himself appear wherever they end up, but he needs to know where the final destination is before he goes hopping around. It’s been a few years and he’s still getting the hang of this dead-adjacent shtick. Which annoys him to no end when Tessa runs circles around him. She’s better at just about everything, giving Dean lots to compete with, but he’s man enough to admit when he hasn’t figured something out yet. He only just learned how to force himself to appear as a physical body. (He immediately found a bar and had a beer. He hasn’t told anyone, even Tessa, that it wasn’t as satisfying as he remembered.)

 

He doesn’t see the man again for nearly a week and reaping goes without a hitch. He’s positive now that this man, whatever he’s doing, is responsible for the disappearing souls act.

 

“I still don’t see why we aren’t doing anything about it,” Dean complains one night. Tessa ignores him completely. Dean doesn’t really blame her. It may be the fourth (okay, tenth) time he’s said the exact same thing tonight.

 

Not one to be ignored forever, he goes to the boss.

 

“Can’t we do _something_?” 

 

“Dean.”

 

“What?”

 

“Leave it alone and get out.”

 

He walks around in a huff for at least two days, but he does bring back Death’s favorite tacquitos after a reaping and leaves them at his office door in a greasy paper bag as a peace offering/sorry I’m a pain gift.

 

The bag is gone when Dean peeks around the corner after three minutes and Death gives him the barest nod of acknowledgement when he walks by later, so Dean takes it as a “you still irritate me, but I won’t smite you into oblivion yet”. He’s pleased.

 

It’s completely by chance that Dean sees the man again. They aren’t even in the same town, let alone the same county, when Dean is patiently waiting unseen in the stands by a community swimming pool.

 

So it goes like this: People are swimming and kids are splashing and screaming, but Dean’s watching the balding, middle-aged man turning lobster pink in the lounge chair across the pool. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to have a heart attack. Dean’s counting the ticking seconds, while keeping an appreciative eye on the cute, tanned lifeguard just stepping off his high chair. He’s about to end his shift a few minutes early and the girl taking his place is running late, so no one will notice the man dying in the parking lot.

 

Sure enough, the man starts packing up to leave. Folds his towel, digs out of his bag his now wrinkled t-shirt, and slips into his cheap plastic sandals, never knowing that these are his last few moments on earth. Dean follows him through the breezeway that connects the pool to the main building that reeks of chlorine and sweat and sunscreen. He nearly walks right by him, the tall man with the deceptively sweet face who’s apparently dabbling in black magic, and Dean does a double take. Shit.

 

The man is nearly to his car and Dean is torn. Do his job or do exactly what Death told him not to and get involved?

 

In the end, he catches up to the man just as he hits the pavement, keys still swinging in the door handle. The man’s soul blinks at him and looks mournfully at his corpse. “Seriously?” the guy wails pitifully.

 

“Yeah, sorry man, them’s the breaks,” Dean replies and all but drags the soul away in his rush.

 

He makes it back in record time (not that anyone’s counting), and finds the tall man sitting in nearly the exact same place Dean had just vacated on the stands.  All but two women in garish costumes are out of the pool and upbeat music plays from tinny speakers. Dean barely notices.

 

With some effort and after three tries, he manages to flicker into physical form and then checks around to make sure no one saw the magically appearing man. He takes the steps two at a time and sits directly behind the man. It’s a good thing he couldn’t care less about whatever’s going on in the pool because he can’t see anything over the guy’s head.

 

He leans forward, until he can smell the unmistakable scent of baking – flour and sugar and fruit and he forgets what he was doing. The memories that hit him are so overwhelming that he sits back and blinks stupidly at the sun.

 

His mom, letting Dean dump ingredients into the mixing bowl with his tiny hands clutching the measuring cup.

 

Late night stops on the road, flirting with the waitresses when they bring him a slice.

 

Benny and the only pie he ever made for Dean before… before…

 

He shakes himself and pinches his thigh for good measure. He leans forward again, and this time the smell isn’t so jarring, but rather comforting and familiar. “I know what you are, man,” he whispers, close enough that he can see the curve of his ear, the freckles peeking out on his shoulder.

 

The man stiffens and Dean can all but smell the fear rolling off of him. “What do you mean?” he asks, and his voice is only shaking slightly.

 

Dean ignores him. “How are you doing it? I’m sure you’re a nice guy,” he continues, though he doubts that very much. “But you gotta know that what you’re doing is wrong. So what is it? Spells? Ancient grimoire? I’ve seen it all, okay? Playing with the dead,” he grimaces. “That’s some fucked up shit, dude. What’s dead should stay dead.” Dean doesn’t mention how much of a hypocrite he’s been on that last part in the past. 

 

“No!” he says and this time he turns to face Dean, jaw dropping with indignation. “I’m _helping_ them!”

 

Dean is only momentarily sidetracked by how surprisingly cute he is. “Helping?” he snorts. “How’s that?”

 

“They’ve been murdered and I’m finding out who did it and how!”

 

“This isn’t _Clue_ , asshole,” Dean growls. “Life’s not your personal board game, got it?”

 

The man looks so distraught that Dean almost considers backing off. But he doesn’t, because he’s Dean Winchester, alive or otherwise.

 

“I don’t know how it happens,” the man whispers. “It just does. And I always,” he pauses for a moment. “I touch them again and they’re dead for good, I swear. I’m not _playing_ ,” he says, a pleading note in his voice.

 

Dean frowns. “Wait, you what? I –“ he flounders for a moment. “Who are you?”

 

“Ned. I bake pies and I wake the dead,” he says and Dean hears the sardonic note. His face turns curious but no less full of dread. “How did you find out?” He swallows hard. “Are you going to tell people?”

 

Well, that explains his scent. But nothing else.

 

“Tell people?” Dean’s genuinely confused now. Tell people what exactly? A necromancer is baking their pies? Which is exactly what Dean asks him.

 

Ned opens his mouth and closes it like a fish. “I’m – I’m not a _necromancer_ ,” he whispers urgently. “Oh, my God. It’s just, it’s a gift! Or a curse, however you want to look at it.”

 

Dean latches on like a dog with a bone. “A curse? Have any run-ins with witches?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Ned answers slowly. “Are we talking about the same thing here?”

 

Before Dean can answer, he hears a familiar _tap-tap_ of a cane. “Oh, fuck,” Dean mutters.

 

He looks up and Ned follows his gaze to Dean’s very not-happy boss.

 

“Friend of yours?” Ned asks without taking his eyes off of Death.

 

Dean grunts. “Not exactly.”

 

Death sweeps in and settles his bony body onto the metal bleachers uncomfortably close to Dean. He wants to scoot over but he doesn’t move a muscle beyond an eye twitch.

 

“Hello,” Death greets Ned with the utmost cordiality. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” He turns to give Dean a glare that Dean isn’t sure won’t incinerate him on the spot and he shrinks, curling over his lap. “You, I will deal with later.”

 

Dean slinks off, but manages to catch Ned’s confused and slightly terrified eye on the way down the steps. He can see Death talking again and Ned, not quite relaxing, but definitely not ready to bolt anymore.

 

As he flickers back into invisibility, he hears the crackling of the speakers and the scattered applause that follows. “And now presenting, a very special performance by the Darling Mermaid Darlings!”

 

Dean decides that a flash flood in rural China needs his attention and he flees, paying no attention to the reaper already there as he starts collecting souls, some literally right out from under the other guy. Dean doesn’t care.

 

All he can think about is how much trouble he’s about to be in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should admit that I have no set plans for this and I'm just writing whatever comes to mind. Hopefully it turned out okay? Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> And as always, feel free to stop by [my blog](http://www.thosehawkeyes.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death and Ned have a conversation and Dean gets in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having too much fun with this.

The facts are these: Ned was nine years, twenty-seven weeks, six days, and three minutes old when he discovered he was different.

 

 _Very_ different.

 

It’s been sort of a downhill slide ever since, he thinks. But that’s beside the point. The point is that twenty years later, he’s attracted some attention. He hasn’t decided how he feels about it yet, but he has to admit, it’s a little nerve-wracking any way you look at it.  

 

He supposes it’s a fair assumption (though it never occurred to him to make it) that when he touches something (or someone) dead, there’s a little more going on than what he sees on the surface.

 

Death was so kind as to point it out for him.

 

And wasn’t that a terrifying conversation?

 

+

 

“You have a rare gift, my boy,” he tells Ned as soon as the other guy disappeared. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Death.”

 

And then he takes an enormous bite of a chilidog that he’d apparently gotten from the concession stand inside the community center.

 

Ned has no idea what to say so he waves unnecessarily to Olive taking pictures of Vivian and Lily in the pool. She waves back enthusiastically and adjusts her wide brimmed hat to better cover the entire width of her petite shoulders. Death is silent behind him and Ned sneaks a peek over his shoulder to make sure he’s still there. He is, still quietly, neatly tucking into his junk food.

 

It isn’t until it’s all gone and he’d taken a surprisingly loud slurp from his paper cup full of soda that he addresses Ned again. “Not terribly bad, but I do believe my favorite is still at the Santa Monica pier.”

 

“Go there often?” Ned dares to ask. Honestly this whole thing was so bizarre he just wants to leave and go back to the safety and comfort of The Pie Hole. But he drove Olive and Chuck’s aunts here so he can’t leave without them. Darn his altruistic nature.

 

Death chuckles and says, “Not as often as I like. My reapers take care of the every day souls and I ensure the balance of the universe. Life and death, my boy,” he sighs deeply. “It’s a very delicate balance. One that must be monitored and nurtured carefully.”

 

Ned nods respectfully. “I understand.”

 

“Do you?” Death peers at him and the sun suddenly disappears behind dark clouds that were not in the forecast that morning and Ned shivers, hair standing up at the back of his neck. “No,” he sits back and sips at his soda. “I don’t believe you do. You are upsetting the balance.” The sun slides back out slowly, as if checking to make sure the coast is clear first. 

 

Ned swallows hard. The man’s small, skeletal, and his sallow skin is nearly translucent, but there’s something… _powerful_ about him, despite his unassuming appearance. Something frightening, dark. He figures his best bet is to start apologizing. Couldn’t hurt, right? “I don’t know how or why, like I told, um, him,” he gestures towards the exit, assuming that’s where the other one went. “It just happened one day and –“

 

“You mean Dean,” Death says and Ned gets the impression that Death is very unimpressed. “He’s…” he pauses, exasperation written all over his face. “A handful.”

 

“Right. Dean,” Ned goes on. He wants to add _I bet he is_ because from the five-minute conversation they had, Ned could see that being the case. Dean looks like he’d be a handful. “He said I was playing with the dead, and I’m _not_ ,” he tells Death emphatically.

 

Death stares at him until he grows incredibly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He sort of wants to shrivel up and… well, never mind. “Charlotte Charles,” Death replies pointedly. “How do you explain that?”

 

Ned gets the feeling that Death actually doesn’t care about Ned’s explanation one way or the other. “She didn’t deserve to die,” he mumbles.

 

Death makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a cough. “Well I’ve never heard that one before.” He looks to the side, ignoring Ned for a moment. “Ah yes,” he says to no one Ned can see. And that’s when it hits him.

 

There is so much he doesn’t _see_. He feels like vomiting all of the sudden.

 

Death turns back to him and says, “This is Tessa.” As if on cue, a woman materializes beside Death and she’s so lovely with the kindest smile Ned has ever seen that he finds himself leaning towards her unbidden. Death stops him with a tap on his shoulder with his cane. “She’ll be watching you as I am far too busy to deal with you myself.”

 

“Um,” Ned says intelligently.

 

Death stands and Tessa stands, too, but she moves to sit next to Ned to get out of his way. He brushes out his long coat and nods once at Ned. He’s gone between one blink and the next.

 

“What about Chuck…” Ned blurts out too late. He isn’t expecting Tessa’s amused face. “What?”

 

“Who’s Chuck?”

 

“My friend,” he says miserably, not bothering to explain. He didn’t mean for this to happen and now Chuck is on the radar of the most powerful being in the universe.

 

Tessa nods as if she knows what he means. Who knows, maybe she does. “I wouldn’t worry about that for right now.”

 

“And Dean?” he asks, curious now that Tessa doesn’t seem to be too concerned about Chuck.

 

“Dean?” she blinks at him. “How do you know Dean?”

 

Ned gestures again at the exit, although now he has no idea why since it’s pretty obvious these people aren’t bothered by doors. Or the limits of physics. “He came by. Told me to stop with the necromancy.”

 

He doesn’t mention how cute Dean was, accusing him of engaging in black magic and all, but by the way Tessa raises her eyebrows at him, she probably already knows. “Hmm, Dean’s…” she pauses.

 

“A handful?” Ned guesses.

 

Tessa lets out a tinkling laugh. “Certainly one way to put it. I was going to say impetuous, but a handful works, too. I’m sure he’s going to catch hell for meddling in this though.”

 

Ned hopes not. It was an honest misunderstanding, but he doesn’t know how to tell Tessa that. “What’s going to happen to him?”

 

She shrugs carelessly. Ned’s trying to be reassured by her nonchalant attitude, but not really sure if it’s working.

 

“So are you going to be, uh, hanging out with me? All the time? And um, can I ask something?”

 

She smiles mischievously at him. “You just did. Three times actually.” A hand wave. “Go ahead.”

 

“What _are_ you exactly?”

 

Tessa looks surprised and then she seems to consider it and shakes her head. “We’re reapers, Dean and I. I don’t suppose he would have explained that to you. Like I said,” she smiles. “Impetuous.”

 

Ned opens his mouth to reply but she holds up a hand. “No, I don’t have a sickle or a cloak and neither does Dean, though I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it if he did.” Ned shuts his mouth.

 

She continues on, “As for ‘hanging out, I don’t know. I have a job apart from this and so does Dean. And like everyone else, we’ve got a boss and he just happens to be older than God and just as powerful. ”

 

Ned’s suddenly very worried for Dean.

 

+

 

Death doesn’t do anything so terrifying as shout or you know, cause Dean to spontaneously combust, but he does make Dean sit and listen to him for a very, _very_ long time about why he still finds Dean to be an insignificant creature and that when he says to stay out of something, he means _stay out_.

 

He then sends Dean to a retirement community in Boca Raton and Dean spends the next two months being run off his feet carting souls away faster and more often than he ever thought possible.

 

He also has sand in places he doesn’t care to mention.

 

He also doesn’t get to check in on the necromancer (Ned, Death informed him, being uncharacteristically helpful, before banishing him to the seventh circle of hell known as Florida). Or see Tessa.

 

It’s fair to say that Dean is very grumpy about all of this. The punishment doesn’t have its intended effect, however, because all Dean can think about while rushing between Earth and the afterlife is how to sneak past Death when he gets back so he can get a peek at the necro-, um, Ned. Ned. Dean might be becoming a little obsessed.

 

Just a little. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from you guys and what you think about this, so leave me some comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's impulsive, a handful, and a little lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a long(er) chapter to make up for the fact that I don't update this nearly as often as I'd like. 
> 
> The Pushing Daisies episode most of this chapter is set in is 2x08 "Comfort Food" - though this shouldn't be taken as evidence that I'm going in any sort of canonical order. More like I'm continuing to cherry-pick what fits and ignoring the rest. Enjoy!

Dean bides his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to hightail it out of Death’s mansion and down to Cœur d’Cœurs where Ned lives. He only knows the name of the town because Tessa told him – okay, he poked and prodded and tried to charm all the information he could out of her and she finally gave in with a long-suffering sigh.

 

Not that it matters because Death has been keeping Dean under his very watchful eye and really, it’s just insulting that he doesn’t _trust_ Dean. Hasn’t Dean always done his job with grace and aplomb? Hasn’t he been a model of control and propriety?

 

Okay, never mind. It’s still insulting.

 

He spends most of his days ferrying souls and without Tessa around as much, he’s taken to pranking the other reapers. He leaves the truly scary ones alone of course (why are they always _grinning_ like that?), but the meek little wispy ones? Totally fair game.

 

Dean had spent all morning bullying a group of reapers into a closet and then making a big fuss out of propping the door shut with a chair under the knob. After they wriggled the knob and pitifully knocked on the door several times, they gave up and Dean silently slid the chair away, letting them think they were still locked in. He spent the next hour and a half giggling into his hands and then growing very serious when any of the older reapers skulked by. Not that they paid him much attention, so it was fine.

 

And then opportunity knocks. Death fairly _power walks_ out of his office and alarms the hell out of Dean. He’s never seen the man move faster than a casual stroll.

 

“What is it? Is it Ned? Can I come?” He jumps up, raring to go, the other reapers all but forgotten.

 

Death shoos him away. “No and no,” he huffs, irritated. “I have something to attend to.” He stops at the mirror in the hallway and adjusts his collar and tie, smoothes out his hair behind his ears.

 

“A disturbance in the force?” Dean guesses, crowding him from behind and Death gives him a look of pure exasperation in the mirror.

 

“Get back to work.” He plucks an umbrella from the stand by the front door and without turning around says, “And let them out of the closet.”

 

And then he’s gone. Dean waits twenty seconds, thirty, forty, a minute. He pries open the front door and peeks out. No Death. And from the sound of it, no Death for a while.

 

He rips the closet door open, not even taking time to appreciate the blank, confused looks they all give him before he’s rushing out the door and skidding to a stop in front of a _Welcome to Cœur d’Cœurs!_ sign.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Tessa is behind him, looking prickly and annoyed with her arms crossed over her chest, a hip cocked at an angle. Dean shoots her a sheepish grin. She makes an angry huffing sound and spins on her heel, striding away.

 

Despite her less than charming greeting, he follows her and just makes sure to keep a few arm lengths distance away. He’s feeling giddy though. Oh, he’s sure Death knew the second he stepped out of the house but he feels like a kid given a taste of freedom when the parents aren’t looking. And if Death doesn’t come down here and haul him back his scruff, then it can’t be _so_ bad. Right?

 

It’s quite a hike to the center of town and Tessa’s shoulders get further away from her ears the longer they walk so that by the time they’re standing across the street from a place called The Pie Hole, she’s tolerating Dean standing right next to her. Or at least she hasn’t shoved him into oncoming traffic yet.

 

“Just – “ she sighs and Dean turns toward her. “I’m not your damn babysitter, okay? Just don’t make a mess here. This is my job, not yours. Speaking of –“

 

“No messes, got it,” he hastily cuts her off. He’s not _shirking_ his responsibilities, per se. He’s…shadowing an expert for the experience. Which is what he tells her as they cross the street.

 

She does push him into a passing car then. But as he’s sputtering in shock, he does see the corners of her lips curling slightly. Rushing to catch up, they walk into The Pie Hole together.

 

They’re invisible, but a girl in a bright pink dress standing near the door holding menus and taking the orders of two elderly women stops mid-sentence and turns towards the door when they walk in, even though they walked straight through it. It’s enough to give both Dean and Tessa pause.

 

“What the hell,” they whisper simultaneously. Dean’s incredulous, but Tessa seems concerned.

 

“Can she see us?” Dean asks even as he waves a little at her. She doesn’t react, exactly, but as she continues to talk to the women seated in front of her, there’s something in her posture, some tilt to her head like she’s listening hard.

 

“Charlotte?” Tessa calls, testing. The girl is walking away, tucking a pencil into her thick, curly hair, and she falters, just for a second, makes a quick scan of the room and then disappears behind the counter into what Dean assumes is where the kitchen is.

 

They’re both still standing in front of the doorway, and it’s not until a group of school-aged kids burst in noisily, backpacks swinging through Dean and Tessa, that they move. Dean rubs his belly, disconcerted, where one boy’s heavy bag went straight through him. Tessa looks unfazed, but she does grab Dean’s elbow and maneuvers him to the table closest to the bathrooms that, no matter the establishment, always seems to be permanently empty.

 

“That was weird, right? And how do you know her name’s Charlotte?”

 

Tessa fiddles with the fake carnation in the small glass vase on the table, ignoring Dean. She’s got her eyes glued to the girl in the pink dress though and her forehead wrinkles in thought. Dean rolls his eyes. Yes it’s weird, but he’s not here for Charlotte. He’s here for Ned.

 

Who is not actually present at the moment. Huh.

 

Dean takes over poking at the plastic flower when Tessa sits back and drums her fingers lightly on the table, still staring contemplatively at Charlotte. Dean’s glancing around at all the patrons currently eating… is that _pie_? Does everyone have pie? A quick scan of the place tells Dean that yes, yes, everyone is in fact eating pie.

 

The Pie Hole. He can’t believe that it took him this long to piece that together, especially since Ned told him specifically that he makes pies. Although to be fair, Dean was unaware that making pie could be a career and assumed that Ned’s pie-making was a hobby. Although damn, what a job. His pleased shock withers when he feels a familiar tugging in his belly. Tessa must feel it too because she stands and gives Dean a _hurry up_ glare.

 

Time to go to work.

 

It goes like this: Tessa and Dean show up in a tent just as Ned hauls a body out of what appears to be a vat of hot oil. Dean only gags a little when the body of the man flops over Ned’s shoes and appears to have been cooked extra-crispy. Tessa rushes forward, leaving a grateful Dean behind, because this is just gross.

 

She’s not quick enough and Ned touches the man first. He pops right up and starts complaining about his super secret recipe that’s gone missing. Ned listens carefully and reassures the man that he’ll find whoever did it and the man looks at his arm with a curiosity than turns Dean’s stomach. Thankfully, Ned touches him again and he falls back with a light _crunch_ sound. Tessa’s got a hand on the guy’s soul a second later.

 

“Oh my,” the man squawks, hands flapping. “I’ve been fried!”

 

Tessa gently leads him away, trying her best to soothe the man, but her nose scrunches as she walks past the corpse. Dean doesn’t move and Tessa swivels her head to pin him with a glare. “Don’t you dare move. I’ll be back.”

 

He waits until she clears the tent to pull out his best Schwarzenegger voice. “I’ll be bah-ck.” He spends a few moments snickering to himself before he remembers the reason they’re all here. Ned.

 

No point in beating around the bush this time. Dean flickers into view just as Ned is stepping down from the vat’s platform. He’s obviously stunned and his mouth gapes like a fish for a couple of seconds. “Dean!” he greets him nervously. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

 

“Nice hat,” Dean smirks. Ned’s too easy, ears immediately going pink underneath his straw top hat. Dean’s about to comment on the candy-colored vest when something runs into him from behind. He peeks over his shoulder and lets out a manful yelp. “Oh my God, your eyes! Is that blood?!”

 

The very tiny woman is wearing the same outfit as Ned but with some adjustments to showcase her…ample assets, and she wipes away the blood. “Sorry, sugar! I didn’t see you there!” She licks a red-coated finger and Dean swears, taking a step back.

 

Ned clears his throat and they both face him. “Olive, what is that?”

 

She wiggles her fingers at them. “Frosting. I was making a distraction remember?”

 

Dean’s sigh of relief is audible and Olive grins at him. She starts rattling off something about someone named Marianne that Dean doesn’t pay attention to at all as he skirts around the tent until he’s behind Ned. He can tell it’s making Ned uncomfortable by the way he keeps trying to catch Dean in his peripherals.

 

“Uh-huh,” he nods. “Olive, look, can you go check on the pies? I’m sure the paramedics and Mrs. Likkin’ will be in here any minute now.” It seems to be enough for Olive, who shrugs and bounces out of the tent. As soon as she’s gone, Dean wraps an arm around Ned’s shoulders and gives him a friendly squeeze.

 

(It kind of annoys him that he has to stand on tiptoe to do it, so he lets go when he has Ned’s attention.)

 

“So, still up to your old tricks, I see,” he leers and Ned rolls his eyes.

 

“I think you’re just determined to think the worst of me,” he shoots back. “I’m helping people and what are you doing?”

 

Obviously an affront on Dean’s very important work, he straightens up to his full height and glowers at Ned. “I’m a reaper, dude. I do more work in a day than you do in a year. Do you know how many people _die_ every day? Do you?”

 

Ned’s nonplussed. “Um, sorry. I didn’t mean – I just, um. Uh, sorry…” he stammers, trailing off and Dean almost feels repentant for snapping. Almost.

 

“I- “ Dean starts.

 

“I kinda need to go,” Ned rushes to interrupt. “Olive and I have a real chance of winning this year and I need to figure out who stole the Colonel’s recipe and beat Marianne Marie Beetle once and for all.” He grumbles the last part under his breath and Dean’s so entertained he just replies, “Okay, dude.”

 

He disappears and takes especial pleasure in the way Ned whips his head around looking for him. Dean turns to leave and nearly runs smack into Tessa. “Christ, a little warning?” he groans.

 

She’s oddly neutral-faced and doesn’t mention anything about Ned. “Time to go, Dean.”

 

He nods, moves for the entrance of the tent. “Wait, time to go or time for me to go?” He doesn’t want to leave yet, not when things are finally getting good. And he kinda wants to try Ned’s pies.

 

Tessa is still silent, watching him curiously.

 

“Stop that, will ya?” he mumbles. “Creepin’ me out.” Dean rubs at his hair and tries to ignore her as he walks past. He can tell she’s following and he makes a big show of wandering around the festival, examining all the booths. After a while, Tessa apparently forgets whatever she was so intent about and gamely waits with him for the judges to announce the winner of the contest.

 

Olive saves the day with her icebox lemon pie and Dean claps enthusiastically for her and Ned as they’re awarded a big blue ribbon. Tessa tugs at his arm. “It’s really time to go.”

 

Dean’s still smiling at the scene but nods absently in agreement. “Yeah, okay.” Tessa’s on her way out when Dean calls her back. “Hey, gimme a minute?”

 

He pops into the physical realm, dodges the crowd, and sneaks up to the front stage. Looks left, looks right, all clear. He snatches the icebox lemon pie and jumps back into his true form. Tessa is struggling to look unamused.

 

Dean slides the pie in circles under her nose. “You know you want to,” he sing-songs.

 

She finally cracks a smile, rolls her eyes. “Yes, okay, I want to.” She pauses. “Wait, you forgot forks.” She blinks out of sight and back in, holding two plastic forks.

 

He inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Ladies first.”

 

They walk back to Death’s mansion taking turns holding the tin and shoveling forkfuls of pie into their mouths. “This is good,” Dean comments around a huge bite of pie. Tessa wrinkles her nose in disgust at Dean's lack of manners, but nods as she cuts out another piece.

 

Just as they reach the mansion, one of the older reapers prowls out. He turns a truly horrifying grin onto Dean. “Been busy?” he rasps in a voice that frankly chills Dean to the bone. Tessa pries the pie tin out of his hands and wiggles her fingers at him.

 

“Have fun!” she calls.

 

The next thing Dean knows, he’s lying on the ground, molten-hot sandy dirt in his mouth and nose and he hears rapid gunfire nearby.

 

The reaper cracks his knuckles and brushes off his suit. “Welcome to the Sudan, Dean.” Again with the creepy smile. Ugh.

 

Dean just lies on the ground. “Are you _kidding_ me? I was gone for one day! This is excessive.” He coughs and spits out a mouthful of dirt.

 

“Maybe it will teach you not to neglect your job,” he growls before striding off.

 

He brushes a fly off his face and tries to shield his eyes from the brutal sun. “Who died and made you the boss?” he yells at the retreating reaper. He doesn’t get an answer and he doesn’t expect one.

 

He spends the entire day rushing to reap the souls of the innocent as fast as he can, not willing to leave them alone for long. Each one he greets with his warmest smile, his sincerest words of comfort. A hand on the backs of the adults, a hug for the children.

 

The other reaper doesn’t reprimand him for leaving the souls of the guilty waiting in limbo while Dean ignores them for last. He refuses to do them any favors.

 

When the day is up, the reaper stops him and says, “It’s done for the day.”

 

Dean glares at him, creepiness be damned. “You know, you’re a dick,” he announces. And then jumps away before the other reaper can do something like rip his arms off. You never know.

 

He’s not paying attention to where he’s going until he finds himself in The Pie Hole again. He grabs the same empty table and just sits, letting the smell of baking pies and sweet fruit calm his nerves, silence the _rat-tat-tat_ of machine gunfire in his ears. He stays, unseen and quiet, while Ned, Olive, and Charlotte (he finds out she prefers “Chuck”) celebrate their win and serve slice after slice of pie to the customers. It makes him miss his life, Sam, the people he met over the years. He’s a little lonely right now and he realizes that pie is home. And people always come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments really do keep me going - without them, I lose motivation pretty quickly <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That isn’t your job anymore, Dean,” Tessa reminds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit shorter because it was getting a little out of hand and I actually split the chapter in half.
> 
> Please be warned that there's a lot of non-explicit death in this chapter - but I am actually headed somewhere with it, I promise.

So, it goes like this: Tessa has a rare day off from babysitting Ned (although she gets cross when Dean refers to it as “babysitting”), and Dean’s catnapping on the couch, aware enough to hear Tessa flipping pages of a magazine in the chair catty-corner to him but still drifting pleasantly. And then they both feel it.

 

Or rather _everyone_ feels it.

 

That familiar tugging, the persistent little ache in Dean’s gut becomes a roaring pain, so much so that he falls off the couch, clutching his sides. Tessa is pale beside him, magazine fluttering to the ground.

 

“What the fuck,” Dean pants. He’s struggling to his feet when nearly every reaper in the house comes stumbling into the lounge, some confused, some angry. Someone helps Dean up by the elbow and he grimaces his thanks to Tessa. She hasn’t let go of his arm yet, gripping him just this side of too tight, and that scares Dean more than whatever is happening right now. If Tessa is freaking out, then it’s probably safe to say Dean should be catatonic with panic.

 

One of the older reapers that Dean usually makes sure to steer clear away from clears his throat and gets everyone’s attention. His own wrinkled, gnarled hand flutters near his stomach. “Time to go.”

 

And it’s…bad. It’s an entire town, people dropping like flies left and right, and Dean? Dean is _terrified_. He’s rushing from soul to soul with barely a pause, pulling people from still, gray corpses and after about the tenth person, he starts asking questions.

 

But no one seems to know what’s going on at all.

 

Dean’s alone in this corner of town, out near a cul-de-sac of older homes. He dashes out to the lake that nearly all of the houses there back up against, the small little rowboat still rocking in the water from the impact of the man who keeled over while fishing. Dean steps carefully around the bottom of the boat before touching the man. He goes willingly, but clearly confused. “What happened?” he asks.

 

Dean shakes his head. “I was hoping you could tell me actually.” He helps the man up and brings him to shore, the little boat gradually softening its swaying until it’s just buoyed by the slight wave of the water. Dean looks out over the water and it’s almost peaceful for a moment – he forgets the horror and confusion, just for a second.

 

“Was it a heart attack?” the man’s still speaking to Dean, and he shakes himself back into the present. “Thought I was doing better, taking care of myself, you know?”

 

Something doesn’t sound right to Dean. He runs the man through common symptoms of a heart attack as they walk and the man appears troubled. “No, no nothing like that. I started coughing this morning though, touch of blood.” He stops suddenly and Dean halts, too. “That mean anything?”

 

They’re nearly to the end of Dean’s journey, unable to go any farther. “I don’t know man, I really don’t.” They shake hands as they part. “I’m real sorry about it though.”

 

As he turns to leave, he runs into Tessa bringing a soul in. She looks exhausted, a grayish tint to her features that Dean doesn’t like at all. He waits for her and they leave together, heading back to the eerily quiet town.

 

He grabs her arm. “Tessa, come on, there’s something not right here. Something is going on, you have to know that.”

 

She doesn’t reply, but she purses her lips in thought. She slows down then and Dean frowns at her. “What?”

 

Her hand rests over her belly. “You don’t have to come with me right now,” she tells him as she tries to extract her arm from his grip. He frowns harder, but she cuts in before he can say anything. “I know you, Dean. You won’t like it.”

 

Dean stubbornly holds onto her and shakes his head. “It’s fine.” But he has a sinking feeling he knows where she’s headed.

 

The walls are soft pinks, blues, and greens. It smells like antiseptic and latex. Dean leans forward, careful not to fall through the glass window. “You can’t be serious, Tessa.” He wants to run, scream, throw his fists through a wall. He wants this to _end_.

 

She regards him with understanding and a hint of pity. “I said you didn’t have to come.” She sighs and materializes on the other side of the window. “Go, Dean. There’s other work to do.” Tessa clears her throat quietly. “I can do this.” 

 

He shakes his head and he’s standing next to her in moments. Tessa doesn’t comment on the tears gathering in his eyes or how gruff he is when he says, “Which one?”

 

It takes her a minute to reply – Dean watches the clock on the wall tick off the seconds. “These two,” she replies softly, pointing to the left side of the room.

 

“I hate this,” he says angrily, wiping tears away and not even bothering to hide them anymore. “I fucking hate this, Tessa. This is bullshit, and you know it and I know it and it’s – “ his voice breaks. “It’s bullshit.”

 

He takes one in the end, cradling the fragile little soul in his arms. So small she fits in his two hands, and her wrinkled pink face scrunches and bunches as she blinks at him curiously. “I am so sorry,” he whispers to her, tucks her knitted hat down around her ears. “You didn’t deserve this.”

 

Tessa isn’t happy either. Holding the tiny boy in her arms, she shifts him until he’s snug against her chest. He snuffles softly into her neck and Dean walks ahead of her to give her a minute to compose herself. And when he relinquishes his innocent charge, he presses the lightest kiss to her downy hair and whispers apologies again and again.

 

He’s never felt this before. This burning, overwhelming sense of loss and anger and betrayal. It’s – It’s consuming and he collapses to his knees, falling forward to press his forehead against the ground. His scream echoes and reverberates. He jerks away from Tessa’s touch on his shoulder and pops unsteadily to his feet. “This isn’t right,” he starts.

 

“Dean,” she cuts in over him. “Dean, it had to be done. I’m sorry, but it had to happen.”

 

“Shut up!” he hisses at her. “Just shut up! Yeah, that fucking _sucked_ but please tell me you aren’t so blind you don’t see it.” He can tell he caught her off-guard with the change in direction. Screams again. “Something is happening to these people and I have to stop it. Look around you, goddamnit!”

 

And by Tessa’s face, Dean knows that she knows. She knows this isn’t natural.

 

“Were you going to do anything about it?” he asks helplessly, arms open at his sides. “Just take them one at a time and do nothing about it?”

 

Her silence is deafening.

 

Dean takes a step back, another and another. He moves to leave, but not before she gets out a parting word. “That isn’t your job anymore, Dean,” Tessa reminds him, and she actually does sound regretful about it. “This is your job, you chose this and you knew something like this would happen eventually. It happens, Dean.” Tessa bites her lip and Dean knows that she’s sorry, he does. He just doesn’t want to hear it right now.

 

“It’s something supernatural and I’m going to stop it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't having a good day :(


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't have anyone to call on anymore. Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank the weather for giving me snow days so I could get this out so fast.

Dean wanders the town aimlessly, dodging reapers carrying souls and at one point crossing the street altogether so he doesn’t have to talk to Tessa again.

 

He’s not mad at her, not really, and he thinks she knows that by the way she smiled sadly at him. He just…needs to think.

 

Unfortunately, Dean is out of practice with hunting. Unused to doing it alone after so many years with Sam by his side. He doesn’t even know where Dad’s journal is anymore. It’s been years and he has the thing more or less memorized, but still. It would be easier to – to what? To research? To get back into the swing of things? Dean doesn’t know.

 

There isn’t even anyone left he can call. Everyone who knew him, everyone that he knew, they’re all either dead or long gone beyond Dean knowing how to find them. And besides, even if he did know where anyone was anymore, _Dean_ had been dead for years. He could never explain his new occupation – not without taking a few salt rounds to the chest first, he’s pretty sure.

 

But then again…maybe there is someone Dean knows.

 

He doesn’t even bother with the fun and games, immediately flickering into view in front of Ned when he’s alone in his kitchen. When Ned jumps a foot in the air and dumps a bowl of flour on Dean, he brushes it off without a second thought. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

 

+

 

Ned leads them to his apartment and he’s prepared for Dean’s usual quippy remarks, but he’s agitated and frenetic. Digby’s nails clatter on the floor in his haste to get away from Dean and frankly, Ned wants to be right behind him.

 

“So, um,” he says haltingly. Dean doesn’t seem to be listening. “Dean?” he calls a bit louder. “You said you wanted to talk?”

 

He isn’t prepared for the force of Dean grabbing him by the front of his shirt and his first reaction is panic, thinking he’s under attack. When he gets a good look at Dean’s face though, it’s pleading and…frightened. “Dean?”

 

“How does it work?” Dean rasps. “You touch them and what? What does it do?”

 

Ned tries to pry Dean’s fingers off but he’s unnaturally strong and Ned drops his hands in defeat. “The dead?” Dean frantically nods. “I – I don’t know. I touch the dead, and if I touch them again, they’re dead permanently. If I let more than one minute pass, they stay alive and someone else takes their place.”

 

Dean laughs, and the bitterness that seeps in makes Ned incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s all about balance, isn’t it?” Ned starts to nod but then his eyes widen as he remembers where he’s heard that before. From Dean’s boss.

 

“Uh,” Ned glances around, hoping to hell that Tessa is here but just invisible at the moment. When he doesn’t see anything, he ventures to ask. “Where’s Tessa?”

 

The frustrated face Dean points at him as he shoves Ned away doesn’t seem to be directed at Ned. “She won’t help me.” He rubs a hand over his sandy brown hair. “I need you to help me.”

 

“What do you need?” Ned isn’t even sure why he says it, but the desperation rolling off of Dean is making them both tense and nervous. Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, but he visibly perks up when he sees Chuck’s laptop charging on the side table by the couch. “Perfect,” he murmurs and snatches it up. After a pause, he yanks the charger out of the outlet with such force, Ned fears a little for the drywall.

 

“I need you to come with me,” and before Ned can say anything, he’s collapsed on a street he’s never seen before with a ringing in his ears and a full body-ache that makes him feel like his insides have been rearranged. “I’m sorry,” Dean says, holding out a hand. “It’s an emergency, and I couldn’t wait for you to drive up here.”

 

He looks around and starts, like he’s seen something. Although all Ned can see is empty storefronts. “We gotta move,” Dean tells him and hustles them both away.

 

Away ends up being in a motel close to the end of town, near the highway. Dean wastes no time in picking the lock and ushering Ned inside. Ned only feels a little queasy with how at ease Dean appears to be breaking and entering.

 

There’s two beds and a small table and chair set and not much else in the room. It also looks like it hasn’t seen an update since the early 1990s if the television/VCR combo is anything to go by. Dean, however, appears to be right at home, opening the closet and bathroom doors and then sitting heavily on the bed, head in hands. He points to the table without looking and Ned plops down into the chair obediently.

 

In fact, Ned’s been nothing but obedient and now he’s getting a little frustrated. “Dean, what is this? Where am I?”

 

Dean gives him a look of surprise, as if he forgot Ned was there for a moment. “I think we’re about fifteen miles from the Puget Sound?”

 

“You brought me to the other side of the _country_?” Ned doesn’t want to panic, really, but this just is not okay. He doesn’t even have a toothbrush with him. “I don’t understand,” he says, trying very, very hard to keep his voice level. “You said you needed my help and that it’s an emergency. What’s the emergency?”

 

Dean stands abruptly and pulls back the faded flower curtains to look outside. Ned’s pretty sure the only thing in his line of view is the parking lot but he moves beside Dean and peeks out anyway. He was right. Just the parking lot. Ned chews on the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say something. When he glances at Dean, he could almost swear Dean shakes his head _at_ someone – his eyes far away and Ned doesn’t think he’s staring at anything of this world. Maybe it’s Tessa. Honestly, Ned would feel a little more comfortable if it was Tessa out there. He doesn’t know her well – or at all, really – but she seems reasonable at least.

 

Maybe it’s just Ned, but Dean seems…sad. He almost laughs because _of course he’s sad_. Dean told Ned himself, his job is death. That should be enough to make anyone a little blue.

 

It’s been several minutes and Dean still hasn’t said anything or given Ned any indication as to why he’s here, so he’s just about to prod Dean again and see if he can get any answers when Dean finally speaks.

 

“Everyone’s dying out there.”

 

Several moments pass before Ned manages a response. His immediate reaction ( _aren’t they always?_ ) seemed a little too callous. But then something in Dean’s demeanor stands out to Ned. Out there…

 

“You mean here? In this town?”

 

Dean’s lips thin in a sad grimace of acknowledgment. He has deep lines around his eyes – green, Ned just notices – that make him seem care-worn and tired. “Yeah, here.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor behind it. “Did I ever tell you about me?”

 

Ned doesn’t know what to say – was that a rhetorical question? He’s not sure, but he’s positive both he and Dean are very well aware that neither of them have ever shared life stories. And to be honest, Ned’s a little uneasy starting now.

 

Dean’s still talking though. “What about you? You told me how it works, but how did you know?”

 

Uneasy? Now Ned is just squirming to get away. He does _not_ want to talk about this, but Dean keeps barreling on. “Could you bring someone back and ask them something? Could you bring multiple people back?”

 

“I –“ Ned starts, clears his throat and that’s what finally gets Dean’s attention. “I can only bring them back for a minute and I have no idea about multiple people at one time. I’ve never tried it.”

 

Dean nods. “Do you need anything? From your place, I mean?”

 

This is frustrating. Ned can’t keep up with Dean’s train of thought and Dean isn’t doing him any favors being so cryptic. He finally just snaps. “Will you please tell me what the hell is going on, Dean?”

 

The frown he gets in return makes him want to scream. He doesn’t even care anymore as he steps aside to reach for the door handle. “Okay, Dean, I’m leaving. This is kidnapping, I’m pretty sure and I’m going.”

 

He forgot how strong Dean is until Dean shoves the door shut and growls at him. “No, I need your help.”

 

“Then will you just _tell_ me what you want?” he cries, exasperated beyond belief.

 

His next words are halting, slow and measured. “Before I was this,” Dean gestures to himself. “I was human like you. Well, not exactly like you, you understand?” Ned dips his head in acknowledgment.

 

Dean sits on the bed again and puts his head in his hands, rubbing over his hair and spiking it up. He groans loudly. “I was a hunter, me, my dad, my brother. My,” he pauses. “My mom. Everyone we ever knew.” Somehow Ned doesn’t think he’s talking about deer, so he keeps quiet. “I’ll never be able to tell you what all I’ve done, what all I had to do to keep this world safe. We hunted the things that go bump in the night,” he says, and he pauses again to look at Ned, makes sure he’s following along.

 

“Okay.”

 

“A while back, well. No, even before that, I tried to hunt Tessa.” Ned’s shock must be evident because Dean huffs a dry laugh. “Yeah, she didn’t like it. But to be fair, she was trying to reap me and I didn’t like _that_.”

 

Ned doesn’t ask why he had to be reaped. He’s not sure he wants to know.

 

“Years on,” he continues. “The apocalypse was gonna happen.” Now Ned’s jaw drops and Dean laughs for real, a loud bark. “Oh, yeah, end of days, Lucifer rising, all that shit. My brother and I stopped it.” Dean doesn’t sound proud or boasting, Ned notes. He’s so matter-of-fact about it. “But we did it with Death’s help and after that, we were on his radar, you get me?”

 

Dean bounces off the bed and checks the mini-fridge. He must find what he’s looking for because he bends down and pulls out two tiny bottles. Shaking one at Ned, who declines, he tosses it back in and rips the plastic ring off the bottle of Jack Daniels. After a long drag that nearly drains the little thing, he keeps going. “My brother died. Mind you, it happened before. More times than either one of us bothered to count, but it was final that time. Death reaped him and I said goodbye, and then I fucking lost it, man.” A wry chuckle. His eyes slide to the side for a moment, lost in thought. He has a wondering glint in his eye when he glances back up at Ned. “I parked my car and stole a motorcycle. Traveled all over the country, hunting what I could when I could. Got in a lot of bar fights around that time. Shit, a lot of fights. Stupid of me. Took on more than I could handle one night, I guess. Next thing I know, Death's standing in front of me slurping on a milkshake and Tessa's rolling her eyes calling me a moron.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ned whispers, not even beginning to know how to touch all that, but Dean doesn’t hear him. Or doesn’t pay attention.

 

“We need my car.” And that’s the last thing Ned hears before he’s sputtering on the ground. Again.

 

“A little warning might be nice,” he grumps as he pulls himself up with the help of a rust-tinged black car. By the time he stands up and gets a good look, he pats it appreciatively.

 

“Gorgeous, ain’t she?” Dean purrs, and Ned’s so startled by his tone that he whips around, only to find that Dean is stroking the car lovingly.

 

“Wait. _This_ is your car? How did you know it would still be here?” From the way Dean explained it, Ned was under the impression that this car had been long gone for years.

 

Dean laughs a little, and Ned finds himself laughing, too, if only because Dean has a particularly nice laugh. “I didn’t, man. Shit, I just had a feeling back at the motel and wanted to see. Besides,” he gestures around them and Ned finally realizes where they are. “I figured she’d be pretty safe here.”

 

“We’re in an impound lot?” he hisses, crouching on the ground, scanning wildly for police. “How did you even get it in here?”

 

“Used to know the sheriff  ‘round these parts,” Dean replies, and while his tone is light, his shoulders are tense. “She’s – she _was_ a good friend.”

 

“She died?” Ned asks, feeling sadder by the minute for this man. He can’t imagine losing every person he ever knew just to live on forever.

 

Dean wrinkles his brow. “I don’t think so. Why? You heard something?”

 

“What? No – you said – you just,” Ned sighs. What is it about this guy that makes his mind so muddled? “You used the past tense to talk about her, I mean.”

 

“Yeah, I’m dead, dude,” Dean sounds irritated now. “ _I_ am the past tense.” He’s been jiggling the trunk for a few minutes and it finally pops open. Ned does a crouching-crawl over to him, still unwilling to stand up and announce to whatever police presence is around that they’re breaking into a car. Even if the owner is right here. Kinda.

 

The trunk is empty and Ned clicks his tongue. “Cleaned it out for you?” He doesn’t understand Dean’s smirk until he lifts the false bottom and props it up with – is that a shotgun? What the hell?

 

Ned stands up in his surprise and gets a good long look at the contents of the car. Salt canisters, shotguns, pistols, boxes and boxes of bullets, and what the ever living fuck is that _drawing_ on the trunk?

 

“Is that a – is that?” he stutters. “ _What_ is that?”

 

“Devil’s trap,” is the off-hand reply and honestly, Ned isn’t even Catholic but he kind of wants to make the sign of the cross. Or hold up two crossed fingers in a childish display of _get the fuck away please_. Dean must finally notice that he’s freaking out and he elbows him. “Pull it together, man. You didn’t think I was the only thing walking around unseen out there, did you?”

 

“Well,” he grates out. “I was sort of hoping yes, you were.”

 

Dean shakes his head, stuffs a duffel bag full of salt and iron and shotguns and shells, and then motions for Ned to come closer. When they land back in the motel, Ned has to crawl toward the bathroom and puke in the toilet. While his guts are still heaving, Dean calls out an apology. “Sorry, man. I forget how rough jumping around can be.”

 

After he rinses his mouth and pointedly ignores his reflection in the mirror, he walks back out with a calmness he doesn’t really feel and asks, “Alright, now what?”

 

Dean throws him a grin from the bed. “You’re gonna do your thing. And I’m gonna do mine.”

 

Ned has no idea what that means.

 

He figures it out pretty soon though. Dean yanks him out of the motel and they take off at a fair clip. Dean avoids the main street of town and grabs his shirtsleeve to direct him towards a cul-de-sac.

 

“I was here earlier,” he explains. “Reaped a guy and something sounded fishy to me.”

 

Everything since Dean showed up in his life has sounded fishy, but Ned keeps that to himself.

 

“Okay, so what?”

 

“We’re gonna find the next person about to die and when they do, I need you to do your thing, ask them everything you can about the details of their day, their habits, their associations, and then I’ll reap them. And then we’ll move on until we have the whole picture.”

 

“Yeah, but I only get a minute with them,” Ned protests.

 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I suggest you talk fast then.” He gets that far-off look in his eye again, but he grabs his belly like it hurts him. “Let’s go.”

 

It’s a woman inside the house, apparently in the middle of painting a room a sunny yellow color. She’s lying unmoving on the plastic tarp covering the floor and Dean motions for him to go on. “I can’t reap her in this body, the way I am now, so as soon as we’re done, you’re gonna wait right here for me until I get back. Got it?”

 

Ned gives him a look, starts the timer on his watch, and taps the woman’s forehead. She bolts upright and before she can start panicking, Ned says, “Hi, ma’am. If it’s okay, I’d like to ask you some questions about your murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been enjoying writing this so I'm stretching it out as much as I can. More action in the next chapter, I promise.
> 
> Update 2/28: Guys, I'm really sorry about this but it's going to be a little while for the next chapter. I've got a ton of RL things to sort out before I can get back to this story. Thank you so much for reading though and I will do my absolute best not to leave this for too long.


	7. So It Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt comes to an end, but a friendship begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am profusely sorry for leaving you guys hanging like that. But I turned in my thesis paper last night (woohoo!) so I thought "what better way to celebrate finishing a paper than to type up a story?" Just kidding - I've had lots of fun with this fic and I hope you've all enjoyed the ride as much as I have!

The woman clearly has no idea what’s going on, interrupting Ned every couple of seconds with some plaintive cry of how unfair it all is.

 

Ned wants to agree but she’s wasting her one minute and Dean’s tapping his foot in the corner behind him and the room smells like wet paint and it’s getting hard to breathe…

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I really am – “ Ned’s watch beeps and he pokes the woman’s arm and she falls down with a dull thud.

 

“Wait here.” Ned turns but Dean’s already gone. Sure, he’s got nothing better to do right now than hang out with a corpse. Typical day in the life of Ned, maker of pies, waker of the dead.

 

There’s a spot on the wall the woman missed and Ned checks over his shoulder three times before prying the paint roller out of the woman’s rapidly cooling dead hands and quickly gives the wall a good swipe.

 

“Did you just paint the wall?” Ned drops the roller in surprise and it splatters drops of paint on his shoes. Wonderful. Dean appears to be befuddled, however, and gives Ned a strange look. “Right, so she was not helpful. On to the next, come on.”

 

It turns into an all day affair. Ned has touched more dead people today than probably in his entire life combined. He’s really not pleased by this fact. Dean orchestrates most of the “interviews”, as he calls them, and Ned keeps time. He also has no idea what Dean is getting out of his strange questions.

 

“Did you feel any cold spots in the house?”

 

“Notice any rotten egg smell?”

 

The answers to every question Dean asks is “no” and Ned can tell he’s getting frustrated.

 

“I think we should call it a night,” Dean sighs. “This isn’t working and I can’t hang out here for much longer.”

 

“Out here?” Ned asks to be polite but really he’s just worried Dean is going to leave him stranded on the other side of the country and he’ll have to find his own way back home.

 

“On this plane, man,” Dean gestures vaguely to himself. “Staying like this takes a lot out of me. I can do it for short times, but all day? This is the first time I’ve ever done this.”

 

Now that he mentions it, Ned takes a subtle peek at Dean when he looks away. Dean’s right – this is taking a lot out of him. He’s pale, wan, and his fingers tremble slightly when he brings a hand to his mouth in a yawn. Ned does a double take when it seems like Dean’s fingers are transparent in places, but when he tries to take a harder look, Dean slips his hands into his pockets.

 

“What can I do?” Despite helping Dean all day, he feels a little useless. He wants to help this guy and he just doesn’t know how.

 

Dean frowns at him, like he’s surprised for a moment. “You mean it?” When Ned nods, Dean shrugs and swivels his head sharply to the left past Ned. “Over there. Someone’s about to go.”

 

As they’re rushing up the walkway to the front door, Dean asks, “You know the questions I’ve been asking them? Just do the same things and I’ll be right there. I gotta take a break man, but I swear I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

 

Before Ned can answer, Dean is gone.

 

No, not gone. Just…on a different plane.

 

He jimmies open the window leading into the dining room when the front door won’t budge. Folding his body through said window proves a little more difficult and he has the distinct feeling that Dean is laughing at him. Shooting a middle finger in a random direction and hoping Dean sees it, he trots around the house looking for a dead body. It takes a lot longer than he anticipated.

 

Turns out the man preferred sleeping in his basement on a couch in front of a widescreen TV and Ned only found him because he slipped and nearly broke his damn neck on a stray beer bottle rolling around on the floor. “Thanks a lot,” he snarks. Whether to Dean for not warning him or to the dead man on the couch for leaving his trash on the ground, who knows.

 

Ned adjusts his watch and taps the man. Who immediately sits up and gives Ned a suspicious glare. “Who won?”

 

“Who won what?” Ned asks, momentarily distracted. He turns to see the muted basketball game on TV that he didn’t really notice before. Seeing as he was too busy rubbing his sore ass after falling on it. “I have no idea, sir. Can I ask you a few things?”

 

He runs through Dean’s questions and the man answers in the negative. He has twelve seconds left on the clock and Ned is about to touch him again, but he pauses, hand in mid-air, when the man says, “I was so tired, I couldn’t even make it up the stairs to go to bed. Bone-deep exhaustion, you know? Like all the energy had been sucked out – “

 

Ned slaps his hand on the man’s forehead with less than a second to spare. He grimaces at the glassy eyes staring back at him. “Sorry, Dean,” he calls to the otherwise empty room. “Time ran out.”

 

When he doesn’t hear anything, he gingerly moves the man’s hand that flopped over the edge of the couch and folds it on his chest. He tries to slide the man’s eyes shut with his fingertips but they won’t stay closed, just slightly slitted and making him look like he’s glaring at Ned.

 

And with that, Ned bounds up the stairs and takes a seat at the man’s kitchen table to wait for Dean. He doesn’t wait long.

 

The chair beside him rattles a little and Dean appears sitting in it, troubled and chewing on his lip.

 

“You know, the way he was talking…” Dean starts. He shoves the chair back abruptly and startles Ned.

 

“What? What is it?”

 

Dean doesn’t answer, but he moves with purpose to the living room where a small desk is shoved up against one corner. He wiggles the mouse on the desktop computer and Ned comes up behind him. “What, Dean?” Dean’s so determined, focused. Ned feels a little exhilarated watching him for some reason. As Dean searches around the web, clicking on site after site, Ned drags the kitchen chair to scoot in next to him and maybe he watches Dean’s face more than the computer.

 

Dean’s infuriating sometimes and what was it Tessa called him? A handful? Yeah, he is. But he’s also caring and funny, intelligent and intense in ways that Ned can’t even keep up with. A teeny tiny part of him hopes Dean doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for so that they can keep doing this…thing. Whatever it is they’re doing.

 

Then he immediately feels awful because people are dying.

 

Next to him, Dean lets out a sudden _whoosh_ of air and it gets Ned’s attention fast. “Did you find something?”

 

It may be the blue glow of the computer screen but Dean’s face looks drained of all color. “I know what it is.”

 

+

 

Dean can’t believe this. It feels too surreal, too much like a particularly unfunny joke. He doesn’t even know how to explain it to Ned, not really. Not the significance of it. Not the crushing guilt he still feels.

 

“A sh-what?” Ned wrinkles his nose at the word.

 

They’re sitting in the town’s lone diner and Ned stirs his straw around his ice water, the little cubes tinkling in the glass. Dean slowly, steadily shreds napkin after napkin on the table and pokes at the pile he’s making.

 

“I didn’t think of it before because this isn’t its usual M.O. Normally, they go after children only, but this one’s upgraded to adults.” He takes a deep breath, knowing that Ned will never understand what it means. “It’s a shtriga.”

 

And as he knew, Ned twists his mouth around his straw and to his credit, appears apologetic. “Okay, a shtriga…?” When Dean nods in confirmation, Ned continues. “You’ve seen it before?”

 

Dean pulls a new napkin out of the holder on the table before he answers. “I told you me and my family, we were hunters, right?”

 

How does he even tell this story? He only told Sam because they ended up seeing the shtriga again fifteen or so years later. And what are the odds that there’s _another_ one lurking around the US?

 

“Dean?” Ned’s voice is soft, concerned. Dean meets his eyes and he’s a blown over by how much kindness there is on Ned’s face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, okay?”

 

The option makes it easier for Dean for some reason. “Years ago,” he starts, clears his throat. “Hell, I can’t even remember how long ago. My dad used to go off on hunts, leave me and my baby brother with some cash and then take off.” He chuckles humorlessly at Ned’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah, took me a while but I finally figured even though my dad was a great hunter? Wasn’t so great of a dad.

 

“Sammy knew though. He always knew about Dad, I just didn’t want to hear it I guess.” Ned opens his mouth to say something but Dean keeps going. “We were in some crappy little motel for days and… well, I left the room and when I came back, a shtriga was trying to feed on Sammy.”

 

Dean’s very proud of the way he does not break down in guilt and shame. “The only way to kill it is while it’s feeding with a consecrated iron round. You okay, man?”

 

He asks the last part because Ned’s eyes are round as saucers and he’s starting to look a bit peaked. “Fine,” he manages to stutter out.

 

“I know it’s a lot,” Dean says, pained. He wants to tell Ned he wishes he’d never brought him out here.

 

Ned stands up and shakes his head. Dean’s heart falls. He wants to leave. This is too much. He never should have –

 

“Okay, so let’s go kill it.”

 

Dean hasn’t wanted to kiss someone so badly in a very long time

 

+

 

It takes another few days and more research than Ned has ever done in his life, but they finally figure out what human form the shtriga takes during the day.

 

It goes like this: They're staking out the shtriga’s house in utter disbelief. “Is this, um, usual?” Ned asks Dean cautiously. 

 

Dean keeps shaking his head and muttering nonsense to himself and Ned tries to ignore him while turning to look at the shtriga.

 

The shtriga currently bouncing around her living room, aerobicizing and doing high kicks, making her perky blonde ponytail shake. Her curtains are open and Ned is teetering on horrified and intrigued. “And you’re sure it’s _her_? Dean? Dean!”

 

Dean shoots Ned a glare. “Yes, I’m sure it’s her. I have no idea why she’s a – a fucking _kindergarten teacher_ and going after _adults_ when she has at least _twenty FIVE_ children right there and – “

 

Ned interrupts, incredulous. “Are you seriously upset that she’s not eating the children?”

 

“What? No! I’m just – This is just,” he breaks off with a snarl. “What the hell is she doing now?”

 

Ned glances toward the window again and the shtriga does several bouncy stretches. “Um, cooling down?”

 

“She doesn’t eat them, by the way.”

 

“What?”

 

Dean jerks his chin at the blonde. “They suck life force out. They don’t eat anyone. Not into flesh eating, you know. That’s more ghouls.”

 

Ned can’t hold back his eye roll. “Oh right, of course. How foolish of me.”

 

They wait until nearly midnight and just as Ned is about to suggest doing this another day because boy, does Dean look tired, when out of the corner of his eye, he almost swears he sees something dark and hooded dart by.

 

“It’s go time, buddy,” Dean nudges him. And then promptly falls over.

 

“Jesus! Dean!”

 

Dean brushes him off, and tries again to stand but plops back onto his ass. “I think…” he grimaces. “I think you’re gonna have to do this yourself, man. I walked you through it and I’ll be here, okay? Follow it!” he orders, and he immediately disappears.

 

“Shit,” Ned grumbles, and takes off running, shotgun with a consecrated iron round inside banging against his hip.

 

Thankfully, there’s only one house in the direction the shtriga seemed to be going and Ned tries desperately not to think about what’s happening inside right now as he slinks as quietly as he can up the porch and through the door (thanks to Dean’s quick lock picking tutorial earlier than afternoon).

 

Dean had told him the shtriga would be preoccupied with feeding, but to still be as quiet as possible, so when the stair creaks, he freezes, breath caught in his throat. He waits a moment and can feel Dean somehow, all but screaming at him to _get moving_.

 

It’s the closest thing Ned’s ever had to an out of body experience. Not until much later does he comprehend the sheer horror of what was going on in that bedroom. The wicked-looking shtriga illuminated by the woman’s bright blue life force being sucked from her mouth and into the shtriga’s… it haunts him for weeks after.

 

But in the moment, he was calm, cool. He cocked the shotgun and fired it into the shtriga’s back. The piercing screech it made and the shrill wail of the woman on the bed keep ringing in Ned’s ears long after he left that house.

 

Dean appears beside him as soon as the shot goes off, still looking awful, but he steps around the weeping woman to kneel over the shtriga. Ned doesn’t think it’s his imagination that the thing whispers in a scratchy, painful voice, “ _Win…chester_ ” at Dean because Dean jumps back like he’s been scalded.

 

“I know you, Ugly?” he sounds full of bravado but Ned can see him shaking from the other side of the bed where he’s trying half-heartedly to comfort the woman before she dashes into her bathroom and locks the door. He doesn’t blame her. He’d be doing the same thing if he could.

 

Ned peers over, loath to get too close to the thing, and sees it literally deflating before his eyes. “ _Killed… him._ ”

 

When the shtriga is nothing but a pile of rags, Dean vanishes and leaves Ned and the still crying woman alone in the house.

 

+

 

The sun is coming up by the time Ned makes it back to the motel and when he swings open the door, Dean is sitting on the bed, staring at the blank TV.

 

Ned figures this probably isn’t the time to be sharing how shaken up he is over this entire encounter. But he is. He’s never killed anything in his life. Brought things and people back from the dead? Sure, all the time. But killed something? Never. This is new territory for him and he has not idea how to handle it.

 

From the way Dean starts hysterically belly laughing on the bed right then, Ned thinks maybe Dean isn’t handling things so well either.

 

“Share with the class?” he says, meaning for it to come out sarcastic but too tired to get it there. It’s soft and sad instead.

 

Dean wipes the tears from his eyes and chuckles a little. “This was a clusterfuck wasn’t it?”

 

He thinks about it for a second. “Yeah. It was.” Dean’s smile fades and he sobers quickly.

 

“Ned, I’m really sorry about getting you involved in this. I – “

 

Waving his hand, Ned shushes him. “That thing is dead right?” He sounds braver than he feels. “So we did something good. Even if it was a clusterfuck.”

 

Dean’s eyes are piercing, pleading with him to understand something that he just doesn’t. Not yet anyway. “I think that thing knew the shtriga I killed all those years ago. I think…” he trails off for a moment and Ned waits, quietly. “She needed more energy than a child could give her. She was. I think she was grieving.”

 

He has no idea what to say to that. But Dean keeps talking. “Sounds like sympathy for the monster, right?” he gives a little self-deprecating smirk. “She can’t help what she was.”

 

Something sounds off in Dean’s voice. Something too sad to be all about this hunt. “You know you’re not the same, Dean. You’re not.” Dean’s too quiet for it to be agreement. More like…disagreement.

 

Ned has never felt such sadness for anyone before. “I can’t imagine how lonely it gets, Dean.” He catches Dean’s attention with that. “You see people at their lowest, their most vulnerable. But you never really get to connect with them. Do you?”

 

The change in direction has Dean flailing a bit to catch up. “I, uh. I wasn’t good at making friends when I was alive either.”

 

The jump causes Ned’s head to spin and he grabs at the first solid thing he feels. They’re standing at his doorstep and he’s holding on to Dean’s arms with both hands, putting them face to face.

 

“I never was really much for connecting with people,” Dean says. Ned doesn’t believe that at all.

 

“I think you’re doing alright.” Before he thinks too hard about it, he pulls Dean close and kisses him on the cheek near the corner of his mouth.

 

Dean’s astonished, but a pleased blush is creeping along his cheeks. “What’d you do that for?”

 

Ned shrugs and steps back, shyly smiling. “You have a friend here, if you want.” Dean’s grin is blinding.

 

It falters when he puts a hand to his belly. “Duty calls,” he tells Ned, sounding utterly regretful.

 

“I’ll see you around,” Ned replies, still smiling, but before he finishes, Dean’s gone.

 

+

 

He’s gone from view, but still hovering near Ned. “Bye, Ned,” he whispers.

 

Ned has his hand on the doorknob, but he pauses for a moment and Dean’s breath catches. “Bye, Dean.”

 

And then Dean is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I did the absolute minimum research into shtrigas besides watching "Something Wicked" and even then, did a lot of hand-wavey magic to make it work. Suspend all disbelief here! 
> 
> I do think this is the end of this one, so please let me know what you thought! I love hearing from you guys <3


End file.
